“So you are the baronet’s faithful servant?”
“Yes, your honour,—Jeremiah Filson, at your service. And here is the letter.”
He produced a pocket-book from the breast of his coat, and brought the document out of a double wrapper of soft paper. Holding it tightly with both hands, he placed it within reading distance of the Squire, having first drawn it back with a polite “Your pardon, sir,” when the latter made an involuntary reach for it.
“His hand, sure enough,” said the Squire, who had sufficient reason in the correspondence preceding their litigation to know his neighbour’s penmanship. He first examined the signature, “R. Foxwell,” and then carefully read the note—dashed off with a scratchy pen and complete disregard for appearance—from beginning to end. The sheet was slightly burnt at one side, and had in all respects the evidence of genuineness.
“Lookye, Jeremiah Filson,” said the Squire at last, as he eyed the letter covetously, “Foxwell can’t for his life give you twenty pounds ready money for that piece of paper. In any case you may be sure I can outbid him. Don’t you approach him at all, that’s my advice. ’Twould be time lost, if you expect to get anything worth while; and, besides that, he’s a shrewd fellow, is Mr. Foxwell, and he might bubble you out of the letter before ever you knew what you were at. You’d best deal with me, you had. Understand, I wouldn’t make any harmful use of it, though I do dislike the man. But I have the fancy to crow over him a little, d’ye see,—that’s all,—nothing harmful. Now what—”
At this critical moment the pair were interrupted by Bartholomew looking in and announcing that the horses were ready. Thornby bade him shut the door, wait outside, and be damned. The first and second of these items being complied with, the Squire entered into negotiations with Mr. Filson for the possession of the letter. That gentleman, having carefully put away the document in its former resting-place, seemed in no hurry to come to terms. He listened to the Squire with sedate civility, but was adamant upon the point of a good round sum in ready money. The end of their talk was that Filson agreed to call at Thornby Hall the next day, and not to dispose of the letter in the meantime. The Squire did not tell the man that Mr. Foxwell was even then under the same roof with them. If Filson found this out before Foxwell’s departure, a meeting might occur, though it was scarce likely that Foxwell would give opportunity for it at the inn. In any case, the Squire would have a chance to outbid his enemy. Having elicited the further promise that Filson would not at any time tell Foxwell that he, the Squire, was dealing for the letter, or knew of its existence, he took his leave.